


Templar Classes

by elleorwhatever



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Humor, Wicked Grace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-05-14 19:09:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5754847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elleorwhatever/pseuds/elleorwhatever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Inquisitor tells another story during Wicked Grace. :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Templar Classes

It wasn’t that big of a deal.  Really, it was fine.

Cullen took another swig of beer, furtively looking at her across the table.  Varric was telling a smutty story about that Rivaini pirate.  The others were staring at him in rapt attention.  Josephine was the picture of the most ladylike scandalized fascination, a hand hovering over her mouth – pinky cocked.  Dorian was chuckling and twirling his mustache in a fashion that was definitely a touch too Tevinter-y.  

Sera, for once, was not passed out. Instead, she was laughing at every point of the story _other than_ the punch line.  Bull was drinking from what appeared to be a full-size cask.  Krem had made an appearance; he and Cassandra seemed deep into their own discussion about being generally awesome.  The remains of an incomplete card game littered the table, forgotten.

The Inquisitor, usually so clear-faced and composed, had by now turned ruddier than Blackwall.  Varric’s story reached the climax, and she got comically tickled, pitching forward until her forehead was inches from the table, limbs flying out in an exaggerated gesticulation.

She was having a good time.  If anyone needed the stress relief, it was her.  So, it was fine.  Really.

Alright, maybe not _really_ really.  But he definitely wasn’t about to be _that guy_. The type of guy that has an – an _incident_ … on a desk.  An incident, once, and then demands every moment of her attention for himself even though they had that incident two weeks ago and she had to leave the next day and she just got back and he hadn’t even had a moment alone with her before they got roped into playing Wicked Grace.

But he wasn’t about to be _that guy_.

The Inquisitor slapped the table with unnecessary force. “I’ve got the next one!”

“You can’t follow that with somethin all vanilla,” Sera said. “Sticky or bust!”

The Inquisitor arched an eyebrow. “I have this under control, _Sera_.”

Cullen put down his mug, staring at her.   _She wouldn’t…_

“In the Circle, young teenage girls get very bored,” she said.  She was carefully over-enunciating her words, her entire body getting pulled along by every hand gesture. “They coop you up in there so you can’t run wild in the city streets, and tell you off if you flirt with your classmates.  I mean, we were lovely young blossoms!  In the bloom of our youth!”

“Was this a Circle or a greenhouse?” Varric asked.

The Inquisitor ignored this. “So we had to amuse ourselves in ways the sisters wouldn’t catch on.  A favorite was to play a game with the templars.”

Multiple pairs of eyes flickered to Cullen.  He tried to look casual.  With casually reddening ears.

“This game was called _Classes_. So, you know how templars have different armour classes?  Archer or scout, knight, guardian.   _Ceremonial,_ “ she snorted. “We would sit around and pick on guards or patrolmen and assign them a class according to what we thought they were equipping.  Y'know.   _Equipping_.”

Cullen jumped, dragging his stool with a loud squeal. “ _ **That’s**_ _what playing Classes meant?_ ”

The Inquisitor focused on him, her lovely, flushed grin widening. “Oooh, sounds like you have a story yourself, Commander.”

“Yes, do tell, Commander,” said Dorian.

“You can hardly refuse a lady’s request, _Commander_ ,” said Josephine.

As usual, the entire Inquisition seemed intent on teasing him; the group spent some time cajoling and prodding him.  But Cullen resolutely demurred until they desisted.

“It doesn’t matter,” the Inquisitor said. “Because _I_ know what class _you_ belong to.”

The table went dead quiet.

Cullen had the curious feeling that his face was being simultaneously filled with blood and drained of every drop.  The Inquisitor was making a strange face at him; what may have been intended as come-hither eyes that were more like at-this-moment-I-will-literally-use-anything-as-a-pillow eyes. Elsewhere were looks varying down a scale of amazement to snide hilarity.

The Inquisitor broke the silence, suddenly standing. “And now, dear companions. For my next act as leader of the Inquisition.” She paused. “I am going to vomit.”

The others then remembered they had the thing to do and left in prompt order.

Cullen ended up sitting by the Inquisitor, holding her hair as she retched into a bucket.

“Yes, I can see now how one would call you a lovely young blossom in your youth,” he said.

She flipped him off mid-retch.

He started to laugh and was having trouble stopping.

She looked up at him. “It’s not funny,” she wheedled.

He rubbed her back. “Yes, yes.  Vomit to your heart’s content, blossom.”


End file.
